The Long Way Around
by Lady Cheshire
Summary: Legolas and Gimli bond in Lorien.


_Just. Breathe._   


He was losing it.   


Ever since Mithrandir had fallen, he was starting to lose it.   


But, no, he couldn't think like that! So much was depending on him, and he needed to keep a cool head and try again.   


Try again, Legolas.   


_In_   


He reached back for his quiver and slowly withdrew an arrow.   


_Out_   


Delicately, he put it in place. Like it would matter. Time would come where a sudden attack were to befall the Fellowship of Eight, and subtlety would be the last thing on Legolas's mind.   


_In_   


He nocked the arrow, and pulled back the guiding chord, biting his tongue in agony.   


_Out._   


The mines of Moria had proven ill on his agile muscles, and a few remnants of the glorious yet tragic battle still lingered on his sore ligaments. He was hoping he could merely stretch them out in due time, and not just give them temporary relief.   
  


_In_   
  


Release.   


The arrow zung off into the endless forest green oblivion of Lothlorien, and Legolas heaved a sigh. Another arrow spent on petty practice. Perhaps the Lady of the Golden Wood and her archers would lend him a few after their stay.   


"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were losing your touch, master elf." came a hard and deep voice.   


He'd been waiting all day for this, and anticipating this destined argument. But it couldn't have come at a worse time. Gimli had probably counted on that.   


Slowly, Legolas turned around and gave the dwarf a hard glare.   


"You _don't_ know any better. How long have you been standing there, dwarf?"   


"Long enough to see the infamous bowsmanship of a Mirkwood elf." Gimli replied ruefully, dripping with sarcasm.   


Legolas chided himself for being so occupied in his own archery, so that he couldn't even recognize the presence of a dwarf. A dwarf!   


"While you are a fair warrior, Master Gimli, I don't think you could respect the art of a bow and arrow."   


What had he just said? Had he just given a dwarf a compliment?   


Gimli was obviously floored by this as well.   


"Nor do I think you could muster the respect for the art of the dwarves, and the skill it takes to weld an ax."   


He said, proudly beaming at his weapon. Legolas gave a flicker of a smile, and reached back into his quiver for another arrow.   


"Perhaps you and I are not so different after all, dwarf." Legolas murmured.   


He pulled out an arrow and nocked it into his bow.   


_In_   


"How do you figure?" Gimli asked suspiciously.   


"We both respect the fine art of weaponry and the codes of a warrior."   


_Out_   


He let the arrow fly, and again, he missed his target and sighed.   


Gimli chuckled, and Legolas shot him an annoyed glance as he sat down and gave his archery a break.   


"Why do you insist on disrupting an elf's practice?" Legolas asked, patience waning.   


"If you ask me, I don't think I was the one disrupting your much needed practice, elf." Gimli snapped.   


Legolas heaved another sigh. For perhaps the first time since he met him in Rivendell, Legolas agreed with the dwarf.   


"And perhaps I am distracted." he muttered. "But it is rather trying to find solace, even in Lothlorien. After so much has fallen into darkness. . ."   


Had Legolas been given the proper thinking through his still lingering grief, he'd be repelled by the fact he was confiding in a natural enemy.   


But no such thought crossed his mind.   


Gimli was silent for indeed a very long time, before in a low, and somewhat comforting voice, he attempted to make conversation.   


"You know, master elf. The dwarves have a ritual when it comes to quelling grief."  
  


Legolas looked up, half interested.   


"Indeed. . . ?"   


Gimli nodded. "Indeed. You see, whenever a dwarf is grief-stricken, he must fight the grief out of him. He must bait his anger and rage and all other sorrows out of him."   


Legolas smiled softly.   


"And here I thought dwarves preferred to keep their emotions condemned, rather than release them."   


"Well, you were gravely mistaken, elf."   


Legolas paused, and then ominously smiled. "Are you suggesting I fight you, master Gimli? Because, if so, I don't think you'd be victorious."   


Gimli admired his bluntness, and even allowed a wry smile to pass over his weathered face.   


"I have already proven you wrong this noon, elf. Would you like me to do that once again? I suggest you try your bow once again, for fear I would severely harm you."   


Legolas smiled, and then picked up his bow and quiver again.   


"And if I miss my target?"   


"Then you shall witness the most ruthless and gratuitous battle techniques of the dwarves. Given you can survive my attack." Gimli stroked the blade of his ax coyly.   


Legolas laughed, and then inwardly gaped. Gimli had made a joke. And he had laughed at it!   


_Just. Breathe._   
__ __

As if working from a dream, he pulled back and reached for an arrow from his quiver.   


_In_   
__ __

He nocked the arrow.   


_Out_   
__ __

Pull back, and let it go.   


_Just. . .let it go._   


Legolas closed his eyes and made a silent prayer to Varda.   


With a twang, Legolas looked up.   


The arrow had hit a tree, but unfortunately, the tree neighbouring Legolas's intended target.   


Legolas looked at Gimli, who was grinning like a mad cheshire, and gave a coy smile with a small shrug.   


"Shall I get my knives?"   


"No. But next time, you had better make your intended target, master elf."   


And that was the start of a history making friendship.   
  
  
  



End file.
